


The Rules They Make

by CaseyBenSullivan



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Blow Jobs, Community: kink_bingo, Danger, Danger Kink, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fanart Welcome, M/M, Oral Sex, Podfic Welcome, Pre-Canon, Secret Relationship, Taking Risks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-18
Updated: 2011-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-07 15:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaseyBenSullivan/pseuds/CaseyBenSullivan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikey's willing to take more than a few risks to keep Ray and music in his life. Sometimes, those risks turn him and Ray on. Written for the <i>danger</i> square of my <a href="http://so-many-fandoms.livejournal.com/64199.html">Kink Bingo 2011 card</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rules They Make

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Duke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duke/gifts), [weekendgothgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekendgothgirl/gifts).



> For Emma and Nikki, who keep me sane, and inspired by this [gif of Ray showing Mikey guitar](http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lpj9bfZG5s1qhghpmo1_500.gif) (credit unknown). Title from the Danger Days song, _The Kids From Yesterday_. Takes place a few years pre-Na Na Na (2014/2015-ish).
> 
> Originally published on AO3 on June 13, 2012. Publication date given indicates original publishing date on LiveJournal.

Mikey looks both ways, then hops the fence, grabs his guitar case, and makes a run for it. This street has been guarded by 'crows lately, and 'crows are worse than pigs, staring at you through their expressionless masks and arresting you with shit-scary efficiency. The road is clear, for now. Mikey just has to make a few hundred more feet.

A breeze picks up just as he reaches his destination, loose strands of hair whipping around his eyes. Panting to catch his breath, Mikey collapses back against a wall of aged wooden slats, a rarity these days since BLI came into power. It's taken some getting used to, a corporation being in power, but weren't they always in control anyway? Affecting the economy and the values of their society, selling products and beliefs to the public? The only difference now is that a corporation holds political power. Corporations are people now. People in power.

Mikey finally catches his breath. He grips the handle of his guitar case, holding on for dear life as he ducks down, staying in a crouch as he walks toward the back of the house. One more look around, just to make sure it's safe. After a moment's hesitation, he turns to push in the basement window, a small rectangular pane of glass that's on level with the ground. It pushes in with a squeak that always makes Mikey nervous, afraid that someone might hear. That his position might be given away, as if the air isn't buzzing with fly-spies already.

The impact of the concrete when his feet hit the floor jolts all the way up through his body. Mikey curses, then turns back, reaching up through the window to grab and pull his guitar case in. The scarred leather takes more abuse as it goes through the small space, getting scuffed up even worse. Mikey stopped worrying about that long ago. The real treasure is inside.

It's risky today, more than ever. Of course, that's the case every time he does this, each day more dangerous than the last. There are more 'crows, more rules, more surveillance. Just last week, a piano teacher got dusted for giving lessons without a license. Mikey's sure it was more complicated than that, and that the reasons for her execution were greatly understated. Just a ploy to put more fear into the people, into the proles.

Well, it's working. Mikey's scared. But so far, it hasn't kept him from showing up at Ray Toro's house of business once a week, though the days and times vary so as to decrease the chances of being caught. He knows it's unlikely that this tactic will permanently delay his demise, but fuck if he's going to let fear rule his life. Music is his fucking life, that and his brother and his guitar teacher. Those two people are the only ones who matter, and life would be just as useless without one of them as it would be without music. Mikey's NOT going to let them take that away from him.

The basement is small and cramped, rows of crates and boxes creating a maze in the dim, gray space. It's a little bit spooky, cobwebs hanging here and there, the occasional spider skittering into the light to stop and stare at him before moving along. Mikey shuffles hurriedly through the labyrinth of wood and concrete and cardboard, breathing a sigh of relief when he reaches the rickety old elevator.

He has to set the guitar case down to pull open the vertical doors, the wood groaning under the stress of movement. Mikey picks up his case and carries it inside, closing the elevator door and levering himself deeper into the ground. It gets cooler as he goes, both cooler and darker. By the time he's reached the very bottom, Mikey's got his free arm wrapped around himself, teeth chattering with the cold. But then, he was always sensitive to changes in temperature, being as thin as he is.

A strong arm pulls the doors open at the bottom stop, Ray's bicep flexing, the details of the muscle sharpened by the shadows cast by bright fluorescent lights. Mikey immediately feels warmer, embraced by the heat of artificial lights and the steadying strength of Ray's arms wrapping around him. Mikey drops his guitar case to the floor, forgotten. All he needs is Ray to make him feel whole and safe again.

"Wasn't sure when you'd get here," Ray says in a soft murmur, his breath falling hot on Mikey's neck. Desperate for that feeling of safety, Mikey seals his lips to Ray's, clutching at the sleeveless blue tank until the kiss leaves them both unable to breathe.

"It was close," he says, playing up the danger now that it's not immediately present. It heightens the excitement for both of them, adrenaline running high at the thought of the risks Mikey takes to get here, the risk Ray is taking by teaching guitar without a license. Together, they're breaking a dozen laws, not the least of which is meeting without BLI approval. Mikey misses the days of free assembly, but at the moment, the danger has his blood running hot and high. "Saw some 'crows on the way. Just dusted a tagger on the concrete. Looked like a rita'rat."

"Fuck," Ray breathes. He's clutching Mikey's sides, squeezing what little padding Mikey has under his big, warm fingers. Mikey groans, leaning forward until their chests are pressed together, heaving with their shared breaths. Mikey darts in for a quick bite, taking Ray's flesh between his teeth. Reluctantly, he gives it up after a single gnawing bite. He knows better than to leave a mark. Signs of passion are frowned upon - violently. "Jesus, Mikey. You can't-"

"I know." He soothes the red mark with a broad swipe of his tongue, hoping he didn't let his lust get the better of him this time. Still, he can't help but picture Ray's throat marked with bruises, displaying indents from Mikey's teeth as he teaches little zonerunners to play guitar. "Not gonna - not gonna give 'em an excuse..."

"Fuck you." Ray's voice is barely more than a breath, washing hotly over Mikey's cheek. "You wouldn't give a fuck. Just as long as you get your teeth in me, you wouldn't care..."

Ray stops there. Mikey knows it's because he can't finish the thought, can't talk about it in graphic detail the way Mikey does. The fear is too real to Ray sometimes, and it is for Mikey, too, but Mikey sublimates it. Like this. By acting out with his... with Ray.

"I'd care if they beat you." Mikey mouths at the strong column of Ray's neck, applying enough suction for Ray to feel it but not enough to leave a mark. He doesn't actually want Ray to be beaten. "Made you earn your scars..."

Ray's grip tightens on Mikey's hips, and pushes him back, back until they hit the wall. Mikey's breath is almost knocked from his body, just barely almost... but he doesn't let on how he hard he needs to breathe now, because he doesn't want to panic Ray. Doesn't want Ray to think he's hurt him.

"I'd take it," Ray says, panting. This is the part Mikey really likes; the part where Ray tells the tale of the hero, of the sacrifices he would make for him. Mikey doesn't know if Ray would actually go down for him, any more than Mikey knows if he'd give himself up for Ray, but it's a nice fantasy. Nice to think that they'd die for one another, like a modern-day Romeo and Juliet. Except that Romeo and Juliet killed themselves by accident, out of stupidity; so it's really not a good analogy at all. More like getting gunned down in the line of duty. Heroic. Triumphant.

And fucking unlikely. Human instinct is to survive, just like any other animal on the planet. Fight or flight, feed and fuck. Though Mikey's mind is on the fucking right now. He doesn't really care about much else.

"Yeah?" Mikey asks, nipping teasingly along the line of Ray's throat, licking at his adam's apple. It quivers under his tongue, an unsteady groan leaving Ray's mouth. "Let me mark you all over, mark you for punishment. Let them take you so I could get away. Suffer for me..."

"Yeah," Ray breathes out. Mikey knows he's thinking about something else, though, about the pain play they used to engage in before BLI cracked down on private displays of affection, setting up laws and miniaturized cameras. Mikey used to bite Ray all over, leave his mark, leave his passion, leave a part of himself on Ray so that Ray would feel him everywhere, for days. It made the long stretches between their rondez-vous' bearable, a reminder of what they shared during the times when their work schedules majorly conflicted.

To think that used to be the biggest thing they worried about. To think that at one time, the only obstacle to their being together was work and time, not masked men with government-issued guns. Ray is the only thing that gives Mikey the courage to brave the soldiered streets. Otherwise, he'd stay at home and work like Gerard.

Mikey sucks in a breath, reaching up to grip Ray's arms as lips settle at the base of his throat. Ray's fucking talented with his mouth, combining sensuality with firmness and just the right amount of teeth and tongue. Mikey groans out loud, clawing at Ray's biceps. Ray just growls against his collarbone.

"Fuck," Mikey exhales, loosening his grip around Ray's upper arms. He doesn't even need to say it, need to ask; Ray's sinking down already, pushing Mikey's pants out of the way roughly. Fuck, Mikey loves how hungry Ray always is for him, always ready to take him in. Mikey slams his hand back against the cement wall, because otherwise he's going to draw blood from Ray's arm.

Ray looks up at him with liquid eyes, dark and dilated. Mikey pictures him doing this in public, on his knees on the courthouse steps, pinning Mikey in place with those unrelenting eyes and lips and hands. And Mikey wouldn't care, even if it meant they would come at both of them with rayguns blasting. Die with his cock in Ray's mouth? Mikey can't think of many better ways to go.

Watching Ray, Mikey thinks he'd be willing to die for him. It might be the sex talking, or the... the sentiment between them, but no, it's probably the sex. And the thought of going down in a fireworks-like display of raygun blasts to save Ray's life turns him the fuck on, makes him feel like he could do anything. When Ray's mouth closes around his hard cock, Mikey hisses, burying his hand in Ray's thick, gorgeous hair. BLI better never enact any laws about the length of men's hair, because Mikey will have to go on a fucking killing spree if they pull a Delilah on Ray's incredible hair.

"Fuck, Ray, fuckin' mouth," he gasps, twisting his fingers in those dark, soft curls. Ray's hair wraps around his fingers, tangles, Ray's groans reverberating around his cock as Mikey pulls and pulls. Hairpulling doesn't leave any marks, so Mikey does it all the fuck he wants; Ray does the same to him when their positions are reversed, only gentler. Always gentler. Ray isn't as ruthless when it comes to sex. But he sure as hell takes it well.

Ray's only response is to suck him harder, dark lashes leaving shadows on his cheeks as Ray closes his eyes and narrows his cheeks. Mikey's knees are shaking now, his fucking knock-knees, those knees he could never control. Especially not when Ray's sucking his brains out of his cock.

"Ray," he wails, because he's trembling, only the wall and Ray's hands on his thighs holding him up. No one has ever been able to get to him the way Ray does, or get him off the way Ray does. Ray is a fucking expert about Mikey's body. He never fails to make Mikey fall apart.

Mikey's hips snap once, twice, and then he's coming, crying out as his pulsing cock rubs against the roof of Ray's mouth and Ray makes these amazing protesting noises. Mikey pulls back, shaken, still coming as Ray drops his head down, coughing and getting come in his fucking hair. Mikey's shaking when it's all over, and he wants to slide to the floor, but the cement wall provides too much friction. No sliding for Mikey. Just leaning back heavily on the wall.

Ray doesn't look up at first, just combs his fingers back through the mess in his hair. Mikey feels a little shitty because he knows there isn't much water down here, and Ray's not going to be able to wash it out for awhile. The thought makes Mikey's heart quicken and his eyes darken possessively, imagining Ray going about his day with Mikey's come in his hair. Just going along like any ordinary day, except that Mikey's mark is on him. Mikey's scent.

It brings out something feral in him, turning his exhale into a snarl as he drops to his knees and bites roughly at Ray's lips. Ray growls back into his mouth, really getting into it, pushing at Mikey until he's pinned again, this time half-sitting on the floor, his back against the wall. Mikey accepts it willingly, lets Ray ravish his mouth with teeth and tongue. Lips heal quickly, swelling and bruising only for the duration of the fuck. No signs left behind to give them away.

"You better be fuckin' careful," Mikey growls, his mind now on the possible consequences of their actions. Of his actions. Of Ray's. They're taking a lot of risks here, even being several yards underground. And it's not just the fucking. It's the guitar lessons, too. "You heard about the piano teacher. Fuck, Ray."

"Fuck," Ray agrees, and Mikey knows he heard it, even though he wasn't with Ray when Dr. Death made the announcement. Mikey almost didn't come today, not wanting to put Ray at any greater risk, but he knows Ray would worry if he didn't show up. And if he didn't show up, they'd both suffer the frustration of being apart.

It was worth it. It is worth it. Mikey will walk down Scarecrowed streets for as long as he lives if it means having Ray in his fucking life. Maybe that's love. Maybe he's just addicted. Either way, he's not letting Ray go without a fight.

Times like this, he wants to invite Ray to move in with him and Gerard, so they're all safe together. Problem is, they wouldn't be as safe in Mikey's house. They don't have an underground safe haven. They don't have soundproofed walls and a safe place to fuck and play.

The alternative is to invite himself and Gerard to live with Ray, and Mikey can't do that. Can't ask that of Ray. Truth is, Mikey doesn't want to impose more than he already does, stupid as that seems. Sure, he puts his and Ray's life in danger so they can carry on their affair and guitar lessons, but invite himself to be a houseguest? Hell no. Ain't gonna happen in this lifetime.

"Speaking of," Ray continues, his calm voice belied by the labored rise and fall of his chest. Mikey follows his gaze to the abandoned guitar case, then looks back into Ray's eyes. Fuck no. Ray is not fucking thinking about guitar lessons when he hasn't gotten off yet.

"Speaking of," Mikey breathes into his ear, "it's your turn, motherfucker." He jams his hand into Ray's hair, still sticky with his come, shoving his other hand down Ray's pants. Normally Mikey would return the favor after Ray sucked him off, but today, he can't get enough of Ray's mouth. Ray tastes like freedom and feels like danger, hot and virile and solid. Mikey can't get enough.

Ray's getting older, they both are, but Mikey still knows how to get him off and fast. He uses that knowledge to draw it out for both of them, heat singing through his veins at the groans that escape Ray's mouth, low and throaty.

Mikey strokes him nice and slow, rubbing his thumb in circles over the scar under the head of Ray's cock, fingers slipping through the precum gathering at the slit with every fourth stroke. Ray's hips rock up into it, a broken sob leaving his throat when Mikey presses his thumb hard into Ray's slit, twisting his hand just so.

"C'mon Ray," he murmurs, breathing hotly over Ray's ear, sweat-slick hair plastering to his forehead as well as Ray's. He bites down on the shell of Ray's ear, increasing the pressure as he speeds up his strokes. Finally, he opens his mouth wide and wet over Ray's ear, and whispers, "C'mon."

Ray's not a do-it-on-command kind of guy, but he sure as hell isn't resisting, either. He never does, and Mikey loves that about him. It gets him hot, knowing how strongly Ray reacts to him. Just about as strongly as Mikey reacts to Ray.

In a couple more strokes, it's over, Ray's cock pulsing in Mikey's hand, come spilling over Ray's cock and Mikey's fingers. Mikey strokes him through it, kisses him through it, devours Ray's mouth with a passion that's nothing less than desperate. He needs Ray like a physical thing. He needs to feel connected to another human being without thinking about the dangers for once.

They sit in silence for a while, curled around each other and unwilling to move. At least, Mikey is. Ray is the first to get up, his movements awkward as he stands, twisting his limbs at odd angles before stretching the muscles in his arms and back. Mikey watches through a haze of afterglow, knowing his eyes are glassy with distraction. When Ray looks into his eyes, Mikey could swear he sees into Ray's soul.

As the afterglow fades, Mikey's tension returns. It's not as strong as before, but it's still there, and without the adrenaline rush of sex to act it out on, it's unsettling. Mikey pushes himself to his feet, steadying himself carefully. Body and mind. He has to be strong, both body and mind.

"Speaking of," he says, and bends to the side to pick up his guitar case. Ray follows the movement with his eyes, his gaze lingering where Mikey's fingers wrap around the metal handle. Mikey tightens his fingers around the cool metal in response, thinking of the warmth and thickness of Ray's cock in the circle of his hand. Mikey suppresses a shudder of pure lust, pure muscle memory, and follows Ray determinedly to the music room.


End file.
